


Refractions

by maggiedragon



Series: This Thing of Darkness [3]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Fluff, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-01-25 20:34:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12540644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maggiedragon/pseuds/maggiedragon
Summary: “You don’t even like dessert,” Credence pointed out, even as he let Percival take him by the hand and lead him into the kitchen.“You do.” And for Percival, it was as simple as that. Credence liked it and Percival needed no other justification. His kindness was casual and instinctive and Credence couldn’t articulate how much he loved him for it.  He’d tried before and Percival had touched his face and told himCredence, that’s just what you do for people you love,but Credence was still unconvinced that orchestrating bi-continental treason at the highest level of two magical governments to keep your lover safe was anything resembling par for the course.





	1. Lemon Cake

**Author's Note:**

> I've received a range of prompts for more writing about Graves and Credence in the world of This Thing of Darkness, and it's probably about time to put them all in one place.
> 
> This particular chapter is two parts, both revolving around a certain recipe for lemon cake.

Part One: 1927

Theseus knew that Perce was going to be okay the moment Newt arrived in London with a dark-haired and painfully shy American dogging his shadow. His little brother had only given the barest of explanations, but the phrases “international incident,” “technically illegal,” and “Percival Graves” in the same sentence had him grinning. 

Gellert Grindelwald or no--- and Theseus would never forgive himself for thinking Perce had just been in one of his maudlin moods--- his best friend was still a crazy bloody Yank.  
The American-- Daniel, Newt had called him in front of their parents. Credence, he had admitted to Theseus in private-- was dark-haired and handsome, though the latter was hard to notice through his reticence and whatever was haunting him. He reminded Theseus so much of Percival during the war that it was painful. Theseus would have helped Credence for that alone, but if Perce had risked his career to keep the young man safe, then there was absolutely no question. 

When Newt had a meeting with his publisher and the skies were clear, Theseus took him to his favorite coffee shop on Queen’s Lane in Oxford. He caught the younger man looking in the display at the pastries and tarts-- raspberry, apple, custard, quince. 

“Pick something.”

“I don’t know what.”

Theseus has shrugged. “Guess we’ll have to come back long enough to try all of them.” After three months and ten different pastries, Theseus desperately wanted to kiss the crumbs off those lips. After five months, he did. Credence tasted like the almond cake glazed with lemon and sugar that was currently his favorite and Theseus regretted it immediately. He’d not seen someone that scared in a long time and he hated that it was his fault. 

Newt had given into Theseus’ irate demands for an explanation. It made perfect, exasperating sense. Leave it to Percival to find a lover between a rock and a hard place and manage to break his own heart against both. 

Part Two: 1928  
Trouble heard the door of the brownstone unlock a scarce moment before Graves did. The Puffskein squeaked and launched herself off the refrigerator where she’d been watching the older man intently, bounding down onto the the counter and out into the living room. 

“Hey, girl. What, did I step in something? Why are you sniffing up my shoes?” 

“Or she’s just happy to see you. I think it surprised her I was the first one home,” Graves said. 

Credence was crouched on the ground, coat only half-off. His hands were buried in the Puffskein’s iridescent blue fur as she leaned against his feet and hummed. 

“I’m sorry. Voges Quills was being a pain. They kept changing whether they wanted their invisible ink advertisement to fade in or fade out. And every time they did I had to go back and redo the shading.” Credence disentangled himself from his coat and handed it to the obliging coat rack that was reaching for it. 

“Did they ever decide?” Graves asked. 

Credence grinned. “Nope. I finally just made two different copies, gave them to the rep and told him he could stay all night if he wanted, but I was going home.”

“C’mere.” It had been nearly a year since Credence had come back and that easy smile with its hint of mischief still made heat curl at the base of Graves’ stomach. He pulled the younger man close and kissed him, threading his fingers into his hair. 

Credence shifted and went pliant against him. “Hey,” he murmured against his lips. 

“Mmm?” 

“Why does it smell so good in here?” Credence asked against his jaw. 

“May have made dessert before dinner.” 

“You don’t even like dessert,” Credence pointed out, even as he let Percival take him by the hand and lead him into the kitchen. 

“You do.” And for Percival, it was as simple as that. Credence liked it and Percival needed no other justification. His kindness was casual and instinctive and Credence couldn’t articulate how much he loved him for it. He’d tried before and Percival had touched his face and told him Credence, _that’s just what you do for people you love,_ but Credence was still unconvinced that orchestrating bi-continental treason at the highest level of two magical governments to keep your lover safe was anything resembling par for the course. 

“So I got a letter from Thes.”

“And?” 

“And he mentioned that he’s been trying to persuade some coffee shop to give him this recipe for nearly six months.” 

“You didn’t.” Credence recognized the cake from Queen’s Lane immediately-- fragrant lemon-and-almond, drenched with sweet citrus glaze and dotted with creme fraiche. Of course, Theseus would have remembered. Of course, he would have told Percival. And of course, Percival had made it. 

“Just for that look on your face,” Percival told him. “Want a piece?” 

“In a bit.” Absolutely he did, but there other things he wanted first. “Dinner first though?” he murmured and slid his hand down Percival’s back to rest of the curve of his hip. 

“Absolutely,” Percival answered and apparated them both upstairs. 

In the empty kitchen, Trouble jumped onto the table with a delighted squeak.


	2. Sophie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophie had made what reparations she could, but it had still felt insufficient. The magic she had leveled at Credence Barebone-- or the swirling mass of terror and destruction he had become-- had been the kind of artillery that had brought down full-grown dragons in the war. You could still see some of the scars when Credence rolled his shirtsleeves up or took off his tie in the summer heat. She didn’t know how to apologize for that. There weren’t words.
> 
> So Sophie tried not to be around. She knew when Percival left; knew when Credence came to meet him on Fridays, knew when they got lunch together and she simply arranged to-- not be around. She was the problem-- not Credence and not Percival.
> 
> That lasted until November of 1929, when Sophie stepped out of the Woolworth Building and found Credence loitering on the portico.

How do you apologize for murdering someone? 

_I’m sorry. I was following orders._

_I’m sorry. You were a threat._

_I’m sorry. I didn’t know my best friend would fall in love with you._

_I’m sorry. I didn’t think you were a human being._

Sophie had made what reparations she could, but it had still felt insufficient. The magic she had leveled at Credence Barebone-- or the swirling mass of terror and destruction he had become-- had been the kind of artillery that had brought down full-grown dragons in the war. You could still see some of the scars when Credence rolled his shirtsleeves up or took off his tie in the summer heat. She didn’t know how to apologize for that. There weren’t words. 

She’d thought about asking Percival but ultimately decided against it. He _was_ one of the few people who actually had apologized for trying to kill someone, but he hadn’t actually been the one to order Newt Scamander and Tina Goldstein’s execution. The apology had been pure Percival, a martyr's need to carry the world on his shoulders, make every fault his own. But-- Sophie had no justification. No one had been wearing her face when she'd hurled lethal magic at the Obscurus. What was more, Percival was finally, finally, starting to seem better. The last thing she wanted to do was tell him _So I’m having trouble dealing with the fact I nearly murdered your husband._

(She’d called Credence that once to Percival’s face and the older man had protested. “Sophie, we’re not…”

“Nonsense, you would if you could and you know that,” she had told him and Percival had ducked his head and blushed in a way that was totally unlike him.)

So Sophie tried not to be around. She knew when Percival left; knew when Credence came to meet him on Fridays, knew when they got lunch together and she simply arranged to-- not be around. She was the problem-- not Credence and not Percival. 

That lasted until November of 1929, when Sophie stepped out of the Woolworth Building and found Credence loitering on the portico. 

“Daniel,” she said. “I think Percival is still with the Security Committee.”

“I know.” He glanced uncomfortably to one side. “Do you want to get a coffee?” 

Credence had never sought out her company before. She hesitated.

"Please."

“There’s a cafe on Church and Vesey; the coffee’s not bad and we wouldn’t have to apparate,” Sophie offered. Credence didn’t know how yet--- he’d learned rapidly in the past two and a half years, but much of his magic still focused on Occlumency, the spells he’d needed to work with Newt and then for Pickworth Publicities, and (because his teacher was Percival, after all) protective spells. 

He nodded mutely and followed. He didn't speak beyond to place an order for an Earl Grey tea, didn't argue when she insisted on paying for both of them, didn't offer an opinion when she chose a small table by the window. 

Once they were staed, Credence looked anywhere but at her, brown eyes glancing out the window at the newsies hawking papers, the passerbys hurrying down into a Subway station. Sophie wondered if he was thinking about leaving, running away. She couldnt blame him. Anxiety twisted in her stomach and made her feel similarly, stirring her coffee and watching the milk swirl outwards and blend into the drink, turning its color from near-black to brown. 

“I know you don’t like me,” Credence finally said. 

Sophie looked up in confusion but the young man appeared to be serious. “What?”

“I know you don’t like me and that’s fine. But it bothers Percival so I wanted to see if there…was anything I could do to make this better.” Credence shrugged, still looking out the window rather at her. “You’re his friend.” 

Sophie realized her mouth was hanging open and shut it. A _terrible_ friend, apparently. She was going to have to find words. The Fidelius Charm bound her tongue-- hiding Credence's name, his past--but it allowed her to say enough. “I was there, Daniel. When it happened. Those marks. I may have given you one of those--”

“I know,” Credence said quietly. “You said so. When you wrote to me in London.” 

“I don’t dislike you. But you have plenty of reason to dislike me. To be uncomfortable around me.” She traced small circles in the air with her fingers. She didn’t dislike him. She had thought Percival had lost his mind at first--- to have gotten involved with an obscurial, to have risked his career, his freedom, perhaps even his life for a man he barely knew. But she hadn’t been about to be his enemy and Percival was already far too committed to turn back. And then Percival had given him up and she’d never seen the older man so miserable. How could she dislike someone who made her best friend light up like the sun and smile like a lovesick teenager? 

“If I hated everyone who had hurt or scared me, I wouldn’t have anyone,” Credence answered. Gellert Grindelwald had betrayed him wearing Percival’s face. Half of MACUSA had tried to kill him; all of them had hunted him. Even Percival himself had sent him away. 

“So...what? We pretend that it just never happened?”

A half-smile flitted across Credence’s lips. “Can it be any more awkward that what we’re doing right now?”

Sophie snorted. He had Graves’ sense of humor. She’d never noticed that before. “Fair enough,” she admitted and felt some of her tension ease. “Do we have to tell your husband we’ve had this conversation.” 

Credence went pink. “I...we’re not…”

“Nonsense,” she told him. “He would if he could and you know that.” 

Credence ducked his head and blushed. 

So that was where Percival had gotten it from.


	3. Redux: Scorpion on Your Collar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Factor in your subject’s background before determining the best method of approach, cadet.” Could she have sounded any more sorrowful? “You’re the Director of Magical Law Enforcement. Your family’s prestigious; enjoys a privileged social position. It’s your benefit to resolve this quietly and informally.” 
> 
> Her voice cracked as she set a small vial on his desk. Graves recognized the curved bottle, the faintly metallic green liquid as Veritaserum. 
> 
> “Give us a reason not to arrest you.”
> 
> A non-canonical alternate ending to Chapter 13: Scorpion on Your Collar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd alluded to the fact that I had toyed around with a much darker version of how this chapter ended. However, someone asked what it was on Tumblr, so...

There were bodies crowding his office-- too many for this to be good news and he recognized all of them-- the way they walked, the shoes they wore, the way they breathed, even. Tall and solid Maddie Cortez, Argus Branson’s neatly shined Oxfords, enchanted to stay that way even through the Meadowlands’ muck. 

The calluses on Septima Fletcher’s hands when she set a mud-encrusted scorpion collar pin on his desk. 

“Dear. I think you have something to tell us.” 

How long had it been since Septima had called him that? Decades. Since he was her junior Auror, the cadet too big for his britches and eager to prove himself? Her hair had gone from brown to streaked to solidly grey; his own was following in her wake. And now she looked at him like she didn’t know if she wanted to hug him or cast _Incarcerous_. 

Graves hated it. 

“That is not how you interrogate a suspect, Septima. You taught me that.” 

“Factor in your subject’s background before determining the best method of approach, cadet.” Could she have sounded any more sorrowful? “You’re the Director of Magical Law Enforcement. Your family’s prestigious; enjoys a privileged social position. It’s your benefit to resolve this quietly and informally.” 

Her voice cracked as she set a small vial on his desk. Graves recognized the curved bottle, the faintly metallic green liquid as Veritaserum. 

“Give us a reason not to arrest you.”

By all rights, they shouldn’t even be letting him explain. He should be in chains but...Merlin, if his team had enough love and loyalty for him to try and resolve this themselves rather than going immediately for Picquery, then he had to return it in kind, didn’t he? Loyalty like that deserved the most unimpeachable honesty he could give them. They needed to be _sure_ and he understood that. 

Graves shook his head and pushed the small bottle back towards Septima. It fell over instead of sliding smoothly and he noted distantly that his hands were shaking. 

“We’ve all been trained to resist Veritaserum. You know that. And you have concrete evidence that I was in the Meadowlands. In the company of the Obscurus.” He glanced up at her. “You know I would have authorized it. You know you would have used it already if it was anyone else.”

“Percival, no.”

“Do your damn _job_ , Septima.” His palms had gone damp; his stomach churned.

“ _Imperio._ ”

He couldn’t stop himself, the sheer panicked will lashing out, pushing back at the spell. The vague trance of it washed over and past and left him untouched. 

“Percival.” 

“I am _going_ to fight you. I can’t help it,” he gritted out. He could see that Septima was still hesitating though and he pushed, goading her where he knew it would work. “If I’m a traitor, Septima, you know that means I sent Oakhurst to his death. Got a cadet killed just to hide my own tracks. You saw what Grindelwald did to him. How many times did he bleed out before the healers finally--”

“ _Imperio_.”

He was gone. He was floating, distant and for a terrible moment, a flash of unadulterated weakness, it almost felt like relief. Septima would ask her questions. He would answer them and his team would make his decision and his fate, Sophie’s and Tina’s fate, _Credence’s_ fate? They weren’t up to him any more. 

“Were you in the Meadowlands with the Obscurial?”

“Yes.” 

A gritted curse from Maddie but Graves couldn’t make himself react.

“How long have you known he was alive?”

“Since the end of November.”

The questions went on. What had he been doing in the Meadowlands? How had he discovered Credence? Had he been sheltering him? Was he or had he ever been an ally of Gellert Grindelwald? 

“Why?” Maddie finally asked. “Graves, you’re the Director of Magical Law Enforcement. Why the hell would you commit treason for this kid?” 

“I love him.” 

He had been compelled to speak truth after all. Even if it was a truth he only now knew in his heart and soul to _be_ true. And well. Now his team knew-- and Graves found himself more and more grateful for the unnatural calm of the curse in his veins. 

They talked. 

He floated. 

Graves nearly cried out in protest when the spell was finally dismissed, sending him back into his body, heart pounding, palms damp, the metallic taste of panic in his mouth. 

Septima still looked like she wanted to cry, but the wariness had gone. 

“You’re a lovesick idiot, Percival. But you’re not a traitor,” she said. “Now get him out of the country before something happens we can’t protect you from.” 

Graves should be feeling grateful. He knew that, he did. His team--- was standing by him, protecting him, despite everything they now knew, but all he could feel was the latent onset of panic, the reaction that the _Imperius_ curse had prevented while he was under its effects. 

“I will,” he promised hoarsely. “I will.” 

“Percival. You don’t look well. Do you--”

“Please. Septima,” he managed. “Get out.” 

They left him alone in the office and the door had barely clicked shut before his stomach finally rebelled and left him retching into a wastebasket. Merlin, it had been so alluring, so easy to let go, to let Septima, to let _him_ ask what he wanted, make him betray everything and everyone. Admit to things he hadn’t even realized himself. 

He loved Credence Barebone. And he was going to give him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like this version as much as the original for a couple of reasons. Graves' Aurors don't have as much personality in this fic as they do in some of the others, so it seemed odd to suddenly give Septima so much screen time. I felt like it was unnecessarily dramatic. Finally, I'm not sure if Graves would have ever suggested/agreed to the Imperius Curse again. Not just because of his own trauma, but because of the way doing so endangers not only Credence, but also Sophie and Tina as well. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it anyway! Feel free to give me your own prompts at https://maggieandthedragon.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments or send me your own prompts on my tumblr: https://maggieandthedragon.tumblr.com/


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